A Fool's Hope
by ShalWright
Summary: Delivering a message to Gandalf sweeps Rahlsma up in an adventure which will bring to life old legends of daggers, rings, and evil, as well as intertwine many lives across Middle Earth. Rahlsma's past makes her slow to trust and hesitant to hope, but both will be necessary if she is to survive the epic quest in which she reluctantly gets involved. OC, not 10th walker, but similar
1. An Old Acquaintance

Rahlsma entered the tavern and subtly studied her new surroundings. The space itself, from the dim lighting to the scratched wooden furniture, looked similar to many other such places she had visited before. From small villages in remote areas of Middle Earth to here in the great city of Minas Tirith, some things always seemed the same. There were a few small groups of men scattered throughout, but she knew there would be more as the light outside continued to fade and evening chores or jobs would either be finished or put off to complete until the morrow. Ignoring the glances and even the more blatant stares, she moved towards an empty table in the corner closest to her.

"Oh, hello miss," she was greeted after she had sat, the barmaid trying to hide her apparent surprise at serving a fellow woman. "What can I be getting you this evening?"

Rahlsma looked up at her but did not smile. "A mug of ale and a warm meal, please. And a place to stay the night, if you have a room available."

"Of course," the woman replied, hesitating as she looked around the room. "And will anyone else be joining you?"

Rahlsma simply shook her head in response.

"Well, I will let the Innkeeper know you would like to stay and will return shortly with that drink, then."

Alone at the table, she reached down into her pack and pulled out her pipe and pipeweed, stuffing it carefully yet being sure to raise her eyes regularly. She lit it as the barmaid returned with her drink, nodded at her in thanks, and began to enjoy her smoke and ale. She waited patiently for her meal and for more customers to arrive, which was the true reason she was there at all.

As she expected, more and more men continued to enter – and to drink – the longer she was there. A couple approached her with probing but harmless questions as her food arrived and she began to eat. She was neither rude nor friendly in her answers, managing to satisfy their curiosity enough for them to return to their relative tables and share what they had learned about the strange woman in their midst.

She listened to the many conversations taking place around her, paying special attention to anything said by the other few loaners in the establishment, assuming they were just passing through, like herself. But it was as she was dipping the last of her bread into the remnants of her stew that she finally heard something worthwhile, her hands pausing their movements just for a moment before she forced them to continue as if nothing had changed.

"It may not be the most exciting post in Minas Tirith," a man was shouting at his friend, "but Gandalf the Grey has been there quite frequently of late! Have you had any wizards needing _your_ services?"

His friend made an incredulous noise. "Gandalf? Wizard or not, he's naught more than a forgetful old man, if you ask me!"

"Is that so?" Another asked. "Well, you can go tell him that yourself, then, seeing as he's probably still tucked in the back of the library as we speak!"

The raucous group burst into laughter at their friend's sheepish look. The subject of discussion soon changed, but Rahlsma's attention covertly stayed with those men. Her table was cleared and her meal and room payed for, and she took her time cleaning out her pipe before storing it back in her bag. There was a slight anticipation in her chest, like she was hunting, but she waited as patiently as she could until the one who first brought up Gandalf indicated he would be leaving soon. This being what she had been waiting for, she scooped up her bag quickly and slipped out of the tavern into the cooler night air.

As soon as her target exited the building, Rahlsma acted like she was returning and purposely bumped right into him.

"Oh," she said, smiling this time, "Please excuse me…I am so sorry."

He smiled back. "No problem, miss. The fault is probably mine…I have had a few drinks," and he winked at her in a friendly manner.

"Oh, yes," she responded, feigning sudden recognition. "I was in the tavern earlier. Was it not you who are posted at the library?"

His eyes widened as he realized who she was, then slightly narrowed in suspicion. "Yes, you were…I am not accustomed to seeing lone women in the taverns I visit. Especially not ones who drink ale and smoke a pipe."

"True, my life is not exactly usual," she shrugged, then quickly continued, "but it would seem that neither is yours. Is your post really concerning Gandalf the Grey?" She did her best to look impressed, which was certainly not an emotion she often experienced, much less displayed.

His expression changed, pride seeping across his skin. "Well, I should not be boasting about it, but yes, the wizard has been researching our extensive history section often these days."

"I wonder, then, if you would mind delivering a small message to him…if it is not too much trouble, of course."

"Do you know him?" he asked, curiosity poorly hidden in his eyes and tone.

Rahlsma was already moving towards the door. "Just tell him that an old acquaintance from the valley is here," and then she quickly turned and left him alone on the street, wondering about the strange woman whose name he did not even know.

She went straight to her room, second on the right after a small flight of stairs in the back of the establishment. Immediately after locking the door behind her, she grabbed the small wooden chair nearby and wedged it beneath the doorknob. She did not unpack a single item from her bag, nor did she change into bedclothes. Instead, she dropped her pack to the ground next to the bed, removed her boots and placed them there as well, upright and ready to be slipped on if need be.

Leaving on even her cloak, she climbed into the bed and drew up the blanket to her chest, then leaned over and blew out the lantern on the bedside table. Laying in the dark, she pulled out the necklace that hung beneath her outer shirt and rubbed it with her thumb as she slowly drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Rahlsma managed to leave the tavern in the early morning without encountering anyone else. With her pack slung over one shoulder, she walked down the mostly empty cobblestone path back the way she had come the day before. She passed by the Great Gate, pink light beginning to shine above it, and continued on until she had made her way into the visitor stables.

She greeted Muineth, her horse, with a quick pat, wanting to first check that her twin swords and bow were still stored safely with her saddle and extra gear. Satisfied that all seemed untampered with and in its rightful place, she returned her attention to the black horse currently trying to nose her way into the pack still on her shoulder.

"Okay, girl, just a moment," the woman told her, reaching into the bag and pulling out an apple, which Muineth quickly bit into and set on the floor to continue munching. Rahlsma stroked the animal's sleek but muscular frame as the treat was noisily finished, then the dark nose was sniffing yet again, searching for something else to eat.

"No more for right now," Rahlsma told her, allowing Muineth to search her open palms with her muzzle. She then ran her hands over the horse's face, stopping to scratch between her ears. She did not stay long, anxious to learn if her message had indeed been delivered. "Rest while you can," she said before turning away, and then she left the stables and made the short walk back to the tavern.

Upon her return, the place was still empty save three figures. The first was one of the travelers from the night before, eating a simple breakfast at the bar. The same barmaid was there, as well, sweeping under the tables on which upside down chairs were set. And in the far corner on her left, drinking his morning tea, was none other than Gandalf the Grey or, as he was first introduced to Rahlsma, Mithrandir.

He made no indication that he had seen the woman arrive, but she knew that he was always aware of much more than he ever revealed. It was a quality that she greatly admired, yet it also unnerved her. Rahlsma preferred to keep much to herself, yet she wondered how much the wizard might know as she moved across the room towards him.

"Your messenger said you were an acquaintance," he spoke as she drew close to his table, "yet I would like to consider you a friend." He sipped his tea, his eyes now on her, piercing yet kind. She stood before him, lowering her head briefly in greeting. "I wonder, did he change the word you gave him?" He gestured for her to sit, and she did, laying her pack on the ground at her feet.

Rahlsma leaned back into her chair, hoping she looked more relaxed than she felt. "He did not," she answered after a moment. "Though I did not mean to offend." When Gandalf continued to gaze at her, unspeaking, she added, "Friendship is a luxury I find I cannot often afford."

"Interesting," he mumbled quietly, placing his cup upon the table and folding his long fingers together. "I find friendship to be a necessity more often than not."

The barmaid came over then and asked Rahlsma if she would like anything, which she did not. Gandalf, however, happily accepted another pour of tea into his cup, and added a couple of lumps of sugar before stirring it and staring at Rahlsma once more.

"Although you did not give a name along with your message, the description the man gave me was enough to make your identity quite clear. But I imagine you already knew that," he said, a slight smile showing through his beard.

"Yes, I suppose there are not many women walking around in men's attire."

Gandalf chuckled. "A few. But no, not many. And only one did I meet in Rivendell."

"I come with a message from another who calls the valley home," Rahlsma said, leaning forward, not wanting to speak any names aloud that may be overheard and repeated. Gandalf became still, his cup halfway to his mouth. "His search of many years has come to an end, and he brings what has been found to the North of the dark wood."

One of his eyes twitched slightly, and he took a small sip of tea before setting the cup back down on the table.

"Alive?" he asked.

Rahlsma nodded. "But we may not have been the first to find him."

Gandalf took to sipping his tea once more, but his eyes looked wild as he glanced around the room. He placed the unfinished drink down along with a few coins. "There is something I must show you, but then we must leave with haste."

The woman nodded once more, ignoring her growing feeling of dread as she picked up her bag and they quickly departed.

* * *

Ascending a few more levels, Gandalf getting them both through each gate with ease, they soon were walking through the library's large, wooden doors. The guard she had used as a messenger was standing post there, and she gave a slight nod in recognition as they rushed past him, thinking that tonight she may be the story he boasted of at the bar. They did not come to a stop until they were deep in the rear of the building where a table with piles of parchment was waiting.

Gandalf muttered to himself as he searched through the stacks.

"Aha," he said quietly when he realized he was at the right one, flipping through the pages until he located the exact sheet he had in mind. "Look at this drawing and read what is written."

With a curious expression, Rahlsma accepted the parchment. There was a rough sketch of some type of blade, ornate and decorated with intertwining snakes. The writing was in a language she did not recognize.

"What is it, Mithrandir? I cannot read this…"

"Of course," he replied, moving next to her and gazing at the words. "It is basically a description of a set of daggers that were supposedly made by the Dúnedain of Cardolan to fight the Witch-King of Angmar...a long time ago. The blades are said to be shaped like leaves and have red and gold serpents on them. No man in this region has ever laid eyes on them. It is more of an account of an account, if you will."

"Witch-King? Of the human kings who fell to Sauron's rings? I thought those were just old legends that the Elves tell."

The wizard looked at her and she struggled to tell what he was thinking. His eyes then returned to the image of the dagger, and hers followed. They stood like this, silently, until he snatched the parchment back from her and returned it to its pile.

"Some legends may prove true, I am afraid," he finally answered, his voice low and face serious. But then he placed a large hand on Rahlsma's shoulder and gave her a slight smile. "Procure whatever provisions you have need of. We have a fierce ride ahead of us."


	2. Questions in the Dark

**A/N:** Thank you to all of you who are following this story, including those who read the original beginning and new readers, as well: _Calllisto, Elleniel, Tibblets, crawler123, forever fanfiction1999,_ and _masterdude94_ **.** And to my first reviewer, _forever fanfiction1999_ , thanks again for your encouragement. I look forward to writing and posting more. If you read, please review - every small comment can be helpful to us writers : )

And one last thank you to _Levade_ , my first ever and wonderful Beta reader!

* * *

Gandalf had not exaggerated when he described their upcoming journey as fierce. He had somehow managed to obtain a mount, though Rahlsma was not sure how and did not ask. They left the great city and headed north a short time on the North-South Road, before breaking away to cross the plains of Eastemnet. As both they and their horses were well rested, they pushed themselves hard, only stopping when it could not be avoided, and finally dismounting to rest well after dark.

They did not bother to make much of a camp, nor did they risk a fire. Rahlsma detached her bedroll and extra blanket from her saddle, wrapping the latter tightly around her as she sat and bit into some dried meat she had bought back in Minas Tirith. She offered some to her companion, but he waved her off and began to smoke instead. Too tired to prepare her own pipe, she finished the small piece of meat and followed it with a nibble of Lembas bread from her bag before laying down.

Her body was exhausted, but this was nothing new. Her mind, however, was still at work, trying desperately to piece together the fragments of information she had learned over the recent years. The search for the strange creature, Gollum, who had something to do with Bilbo Baggins, who had come to stay in Rivendell around the time Aragon first began the hunt. And stories of rings and the Witch-King and ancient blades forged to kill him. As tired as she was, she found it difficult to sleep. Absentmindedly, she reached below her shirt and fiddled with her necklace.

"A token from a suitor?" Gandalf asked, somewhat teasingly.

She dropped the necklace immediately and placed her hand behind her head, instead. "I have so many," she joked in response, keeping her eyes on the clouds and stars above.

Unseen by Rahlsma, the wizard studied her in the dark, wondering, but remaining silent. Finally, he said, "You have grown much since I first met you. Your training with Elladan and Elrohir seems to have benefitted you well."

"They were tough but good teachers." She closed her eyes. "That was so long ago now. Almost ten years, I think."

They were quiet for a time before Gandalf said, "I discovered this morning that I am still in the habit of checking that my bag of pipeweed is still on my person when you and I part company."

There was no response, and he assumed she had fallen asleep. But then she rolled to her side, facing away from him, and mumbled, "That is wise. Not all things can be changed."

He chuckled, and she let the soft sound ease her mind into sleep.

* * *

They were up with the sun the next day and were continuing their journey in hardly any time at all. Still pushing themselves and their horses hard, they knew they did not have to cover as much ground as the day before to arrive in Lothlorien before nightfall. This they did with no problems and were brought to Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn, who had been foretold of their arrival.

"Less than a fortnight has passed since our grandsons travelled this way, bringing news of a successful quest and tidings that Mithrandir may very well be visiting soon," the Lady announced, her arms open in welcome.

The wizard and woman both bowed their heads, Rahlsma never growing accustomed to Galadriel's mysterious voice and striking beauty, even though she and the twins had stayed there not a month ago during their search for Aragorn. They raised their heads, but Rahlsma tried to avoid looking straight into the Elf's eyes. Nevertheless, she heard the voice in her head, knowing the powerful Lady was likewise speaking to Mithrandir in secret.

" _Because of your recent tasks, you have not killed an orc in some time…you long for it like men hunger for bread…I can feel the twitching of your restless fingers… but worry not, soon you will have the opportunity to slay more orcs and dark creatures than even you have ever imagined…"  
_

Rahlsma listened intently, her eyes on the ground at Galadriel's feet, her hands tightening into fists.

" _A great time of testing awaits you, Rahlsma, and the most difficult evil to defeat is that which comes from unexpected sources."_

The woman took a deep, slow breath as she wondered about this approaching evil. A natural skeptic, she had once scoffed at the idea of prophecies and foresight. But she had spent seven formative years in the Last Homely House, the final of which marking the beginning of her formal weapon and scouting training, and she had accepted long ago that some Elves had gifts she could neither understand nor learn.

Rahlsma realized that the voice in her head had ceased and Galadriel was finishing speaking their welcome aloud. Celeborn then requested Gandalf join the two of them for a private meeting, gesturing for the woman to instead follow an Elf wearing a long, silver dress. She did so without argument, somewhat irritated for being excluded, but mostly relieved to have a little quiet time to herself.

After being shown where she and the Wizard would be staying the night, their horses already nearby and grazing, Rahlsma dropped her gear and moved towards the small stream she knew to be close by. Squatting near its edge, she loosened the thin, leather armguards she wore between her elbow and wrist and slipped them off. She pushed up her sleeves, then, rubbing the cold water over the skin of her lower arms and hands before splashing some onto her face.

A fire was already burning when she returned to their area, so she sat and let it dry her skin before pulling down her sleeves and tying her armguards back into place over them. Before long, a dish of food was brought to her, which she happily accepted and immediately began to eat. There was still no sign of Gandalf when she had finished, so she dug in her pack for the small leather pouch that held her whetstone and a small vial of oil.

She was almost finished sharpening her second sword when the Wizard finally arrived. Ignoring him, she slid the slightly curved blade into its sheath and laid it with the other at her side, then stared into the fire. He slowly lowered himself onto the ground a few feet from her, groaning as he did so. The following quiet felt uncomfortable.

"I expect you have been given dinner?" he finally asked. She nodded but still did not look in his direction. The silence began to settle once more, but its heaviness felt cumbersome to him. So he attempted to throw it off. "If there is something you would like to say to me, Rahlsma, I would prefer you do so and be done with it."

The woman moved her head slightly to face him, the fire flashing momentarily in her eyes. Any mortal man would have been frightened at the intensity of her stare, but Gandalf was not and matched her gaze with his own.

"I was furious, you know," she began.

"That you were not also asked to meet with our hosts?"

She shook her head slightly. "When Aragorn left to search for Gollum. I felt as though you had…taken him from me."

Her eyes returned to the fire but Gandalf's remained on her.

"I can understand why you would feel that way." He paused. "I do not regret the decision, though I regret that it caused you pain."

"I never said pain," she was quick to point out.

"My mistake," he answered, though his tone was no longer apologetic.

The silence, less bothersome now, returned yet again, and they listened to the popping of the fire and the sounds of singing somewhere nearby, before Rahlsma disrupted it.

"I want to know why," she said. Then, more firmly, "I _deserve_ to know."

He sighed. "I was hoping this would all come to nothing, but it does not appear we will be so fortunate." He folded his long fingers together and set them in his lap. "I assume you remember the story of Bilbo finding his ring?"

"Of course," she answered. "He found it in a cave, then escaped the creature Gollum with riddles in the dark. He won by asking it to guess what he had in his pocket."

"Correct, though a crucial detail was omitted; the ring was originally Gollum's. He had had it in his possession for a very long time, in fact, and was greatly distressed by its loss."

Rahlsma's face grew curious. "Would he try to find Bilbo? Surely he is safe after all of these years…and in Rivendell, of all places."

"If the ring was just a personal trinket, yes. But I fear it may prove much more than that."

"A ring of power, you mean? I thought the Elves of old only made the Three. And no Elf now speaks of their whereabouts…though glances and quiet comments over the years have made me wonder…" she let her thought hang in the air, exposed for Gandalf to ponder.

He paused before answering, searching the woman's eyes. "They made many lesser ones as they learned the craft but were eventually guided to create the Seven and the Nine. But Celebrimbor formed the Three without their instructor's knowledge."

"Instructor?"

"Sauron," Gandalf answered, his bushy eyebrows raised high.

"But what difference does that make now?" Rahlsma asked, her frustration growing. The more she was learning, the less it all seemed to come together to make any kind of sense. "Sauron was destroyed during the Last Alliance. And what does any of this have to do with Bilbo's ring?"

The wizard took a deep breath. "Sauron was defeated, not destroyed, when Isildur cut the One Ring from his hand. The ring that he had forged in Mount Doom in an attempt to control all the others and their bearers, enslaving all free people's beneath his rule. A ring that ensnared all who laid eyes on it in lust for its power. A band of gold that could make mortals have unnaturally long life…and disappear."

"Bilbo's party…" Rahlsma barely whispered. "A strange coincidence, though, and nothing more. Something so powerful could not have just been misplaced and forgotten for the better part of an age, could it? It is impossible that the two rings are the same."

"Extremely unlikely, yes, but not impossible. I have done much research on the subject and believe, unfortunately, that this may indeed be the case." Rahlsma's eyes widened almost imperceptibly at this statement, but he continued. "I think I have discovered a way to know for sure. I was planning, in fact, to depart for where the ring is currently located, but then you arrived with news of Gollum…"

"And he would know that Bilbo had the ring," she finished.

"Precisely." Gandalf leaned over and placed another log into the fire. "And now, this old man needs a rest from your many questions, if you would be so kind to allow it."

Rahlsma nodded and rose to prepare her sleeping pallet. By the time she laid down in it, Gandalf was smoking his pipe, leaning against a nearby tree. Lothlorien was peaceful, and the woman was looking forward to sleeping well. Tiredness grew within her and spread throughout her body and mind.

"It seems fair that I should now answer at least one question for you," she said sleepily, as if speaking to the forest around her.

She did not see her companion's small smile as he removed the pipe from his mouth and asked, "What is the origin of your necklace?"

A lengthy pause in the dark. And then, "It was given to me by my father."


	3. An Unexpected Host

**A/N** Sorry for the delay! I have actually had this written for a few weeks but because of a delay in the editing process decided just to post it as is. Feel free to let me know if there are any blaring mistakes you catch!

Thanks _forever fanfiction 1999_ and _Literary Melody_ for your lovely reviews! To answer some questions for everyone: Aragorn and Rahlsma _do_ have a close bond, but I will not say of what kind yet - you'll just have to keep reading! Sorry, but same goes for the great questions about her father. Rahlsma's past will be revealed more and more as the story goes on, but I am afraid it is up to her to do the revealing...and it takes her a while to trust others and open up, so hopefully you're patient ; ) Muineth, her horse's name, is an Elvish translation for the name Cheri, which has origins meaning 'dear female,' so it's basically a term of endearment (sorry, I think I gave you a wrong answer in our messaging). I found it on the site arwen-undomiel.

Thank you to _FrlBarth_ , _katosade_ , _Mghtandtrdt_ , and any other new followers that I may have missed.

If you read, PLEASE review. Thanks!

* * *

Their third day of travel passed much like their first. They were well fed and well rested, and they rode hard northward along the Anduin. They found a shallow place to cross the Gladden River around midday, Rahlsma nibbling more Lembas bread en route, as they did not wish to stop until nightfall. By the time the light was beginning to fade, they were approaching the path connecting the Old Forest Road with the High Pass. But Gandalf did not slow nor show any indication of turning.

"Are we not taking this way?" Rahlsma asked him above sounds of their horses' galloping hooves.

"No. We will cross on the Ford of Carrock." He looked reassuringly at the woman riding near him. "It is not much further."

She nodded, her face set. "Will we be able to do so once it is dark?"

"Worry not. We will have light."

Rahlsma ignored this mysterious statement and questioned the Wizard no more. Instead, she focused on continuing her ride despite her sore backside and aching legs. She was used to long days as well as riding cross country, but this journey's pace was pushing her limits. She desperately hoped she could dismount and stretch her legs soon.

Sure enough, it was just before dusk when Gandalf finally slowed and came to a stop facing the river. They could hear the moving water, but the cloudy night made it difficult to see. Rahlsma fidgeted in her saddle, uneasy at the prospect of crossing, both because of the dark and because she had never before travelled east of the Anduin so close to the forests of Mirkwood. Muineth shifted her hooves beneath her.

Reaching into his long robes, Gandalf retrieved some kind of jewel and placed it atop his staff. He seemed to whisper to it, then held it aloft, a bright light suddenly shining forth. They could now see the great flat stones stretching to the opposite coastline.

"Ready?" he asked.

"After you," she responded, gesturing to the wide river.

He cocked his head at her but then wasted no time in commanding his horse forward, them making a small, unnecessary jump onto the first stone. Rahlsma waited until he moved to the next one before likewise urging Muineth forward and following him across, grateful for the light that helped guide what otherwise would be a perilous journey with limited sight.

"Halt!" someone shouted when they had almost reached the far bank. "Crossing in the dark to avoid paying the toll, are you?"

A man holding up a torch stood at the water's edge, surrounded by a handful of other men. All were armed.

" _Shall I clear our way?"_ Rahlsma whispered in Elvish.

But Gandalf shook his head sharply, then raised one palm towards the group in a gesture of peace. "I have long been friend of Beorn the warrior and his people. We journey to the Halls of Thranduil and seek a safe place to stay the night."

Some of the men shared potent glances. The first man who spoke did so again. "Then you will be sad to hear that Beorn is with us no more. His son now rules in his stead."

"This news does grieve me greatly" the Wizard relied, placing his hand on his heart. "Please lead us to Grimbeorn so that I may express my sorrow to him."

The group huddled together and seemed to debate this, while Rahlsma patted Muineth's neck and sighed softly. Finally, an agreement was reached.

"Dismount your horses," the spokesman declared, "and we will bring you to him."

The two travelers looked at one another, Rahlsma's gaze full of dissent. Gandalf merely muttered, "Tis alright," as he climbed off and landed on the hard stone, groaning and stretching a little as he waited for Rahlsma to follow suit. She hesitated, glaring at the men at the water's edge, but then swung down, as well, following Gandalf onto the bank.

Her relief at being back on solid ground was stifled by the untrusting looks the group of men were now giving them. Rahlsma and Gandalf led their horses by their reigns, following the spokesman and one other; two other men flanked them, and the final two followed behind. The woman knew the men were undoubtedly no match for the two of them, but she still did not like being surrounded so.

Their party moved away from the river and headed east. Before long, fires from their destination were visible in the distance, and far beyond that, the tall trees of Mirkwood were silhouetted against the sky. She never would have admitted it, but Rahlsma was glad at the prospect of having shelter tonight and not having to enter the forest until the morrow.

As they were escorted through the small village towards its center, where a massive fire awaited, Rahlsma noticed a large, dark shape moving towards them from the opposite direction. She watched it carefully, wondering why no one else seemed bothered by its presence. It moved into the light of the fire and Rahlsma stopped walking immediately, dropping the reigns to grip Gandalf's arm in one hand and reach for one sword with the other.

"It's quite alright," he told the alarmed woman.

"There's a bear, Mithrandir," she hissed back.

"I know," he said with a smile, slipping out of her grasp and walking straight for the animal, which had stopped near the fire. "Grimbeorn, the joy at seeing you grown and leading your people is mingled with despair at the news of your father's passing. May his great spirit roam peacefully wherever it desires."

The Wizard bowed slightly, and it was only then that the memory of one of Bilbo's stories surfaced in her mind. According to the tale (which Rahlsma thought was rather a tall one), Beorn was a skin-changer, able to shift from man to bear and back again at will. But she had assumed the details had been greatly exaggerated and never imagined she would ever encounter such a person. So she watched closely, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, still ready to jump onto Muineth any moment, just in case.

Some people from the village had finally responded with movement as she stared, leaving their places by the fire to hold up a large sheet-like cloth around the animal, blocking it from view. The flames lit up its figure from behind, and Rahlsma watched with a deeply furrowed brow as the shadow on the fabric shifted in front of her eyes from one of a great bear to that of a much smaller creature, still crouching on all fours. Someone rushed behind the visual barrier, and Rahlsma was shocked when the shadow stood, revealing it as the form of a man. A moment later, the sheet was lowered and removed, and where the bear had stood just a few moments before, now stood a large, dark-haired man clothed similarly to the others, save for a crown of sticks with some kind of long, thick grass weaved throughout it upon his head.

"It has been many years since I last laid my eyes upon you, Gandalf the Grey, friend of my father. And I am pleased to welcome you upon your return," the man said, his hand stretching out toward his guest. "But while I accept your condolences, please despair no more on my own or my father's behalf. For I have done more than my due of grieving and like to believe that any such heaviness is no more for the great Beorn."

Gandalf nodded with a smile. "So be it, then," he replied, and then looked towards Rahlsma who was still standing in shock near the horses. He gestured for her to come closer. "I am accompanied this journey by an old friend of mine, Rahlsma, who hails from Rivendell."

The woman, whose mouth had finally closed, was standing near, now, and the mysterious man looked her over. "She does not look too old to me!" he said with a laugh, and there were some chuckles about them. "I am Grimbeorn, son of Beorn, and you are welcome here, as well, Rahlsma friend of Gandalf. I am guessing from your reaction that he did not forewarn you of some of our…special skills?"

There was more laughter and she shot her companion a quick look of annoyance, before remembering to nod at their host in acknowledgement of his hospitality. "I am afraid my _friend_ takes far too much pleasure in catching others off guard…and me, especially."

Grimbeorn laughed heartily before taking them both by the shoulders and leading them to seats around the fire.

* * *

Rahlsma was thinking on the previous night fondly the next morning as she and the Wizard rode quickly towards the great wood. She unconsciously licked her lips, remembering the large amount of food she had happily consumed. There had been wide slices of bread, sweet and dense, covered in butter and jam or honey, as well as a delicious soup made from some type of squash, and berries mixed in thick cream. After the meal, which was unbelievably filling, she happily listened to stories about the people's old leader, who apparently had been much grumpier and more short-tempered than his son who laughed heartily and loud, one arm around his wife who had sat beside him.

The image was interrupted by Gandalf's voice as he pointed to the North.

"Through those fields lies Beorn's old homestead," he called back to her, "where I first met him. Bilbo was with me, you know."

"Yes. You left him and the Dwarves at the edge of Mirkwood," Rahlsma responded, moving closer for ease of hearing. "I hope you do not plan to do so to me."

"What's this?" Gandalf questioned with a smirk. "The fierce Rahlsma knows fear just like the rest of us?"

She rolled her eyes and shot ahead as if she did not mind their upcoming destination. But, deep down, she knew she did. She had heard her teachers, Elrohir especially, speak of the place with distrust and disgust, of its darkness, its tangled growth, and its many strange creatures. And once he discovered her dislike of spiders when she was but a girl, he loved to tease her by describing in detail the giant ones that he had encountered on his errands there. Elladan would admonish his brother for trying to scare her and would remind her that the Elves who lived there were their allies.

Nonetheless, Rahlsma had managed to avoid the place so far. But not for much longer.

They had begrudgingly left their hosts as early as they could that day. Had their current task not have been of the utmost importance, they both would have preferred to tarry much longer. But with their early start and the speed of their horses, they found themselves instead at the edge of Mirkwood by mid-morning, stopped and staring at the small entryway the path before them offered.

"You seem to remember the stories well," Gandalf said, his eyes focusing on the way ahead. "What is the most important rule for travelling this way?"

"Never leave the path."

"Yes," he nodded, then turned his eyes on hers. "No matter the circumstances, Rahlsma. Even if we somehow become separated or you think it is otherwise necessary, _never_ step foot off the path."

"You know following rules is not my best strength," she teased, trying to detract from the seriousness of the moment.

He smiled at her, then clucked at his horse and encouraged him forwards.

"That is true," he said, ducking down so his pointy hat would not be caught in the hanging branches. "But surviving is."

She smirked and followed him into the darkness of Mirkwood.


	4. Into the Great Wood

**A/N: Hey, everyone! I'm struggling a bit as I fill in the gaps of storyline with this reboot. Thoughts on this chapter would be greatly appreciated, as always : ) Thanks for your patience!**

* * *

The air felt different as soon as they had entered inside of the forest. Thicker and heavier. It made Rahlsma feel quite closed in, a sensation she did not like at all, and caused her to long for the open spaces of the valley. But she pushed down such feelings, instead focusing on keeping her eyes constantly scanning the woods around them as she rode behind Gandalf.

Gandalf's hat had been knocked off twice before the tall Wizard, mumbling to himself, removed it and placed it on his lap instead. Still, he often had to lean down in order to avoid being scratched in the face or poked in his eye. Eventually, with a mutter of 'confound it all,' he swung one long leg over the back of his ride and resigned himself to walk.

Rahlsma, too, climbed down, despite the fact that she was much shorter than her companion and was therefore not having the same problem. But it did not seem right to her to ride on when he could not. They had not been travelling on foot long when the young woman stopped suddenly, turning her gaze to the left and then remaining perfectly still, one hand on the hilt of one of her swords strapped to her back.

Gandalf took a few steps more before he sensed the lack of movement behind him, stopped, and watched Rahlsma closely. He waited to speak until she looked at him.

"Is everything alright?" he asked.

"I thought I heard something, but…" she let the rest of her sentence hang in the air as she turned and looked into the thick woods once more.

"Hmm," Gandalf hummed. "Perhaps you did, but either way, we should keep moving."

She nodded and they continued on.

Having to continue on foot greatly slowed their progress, a fact that weighed on them both heavily now that the hospitality of Grimbeorn seemed far behind them and their destination was so close, yet felt so far away. Rahlsma, always cautious, became increasingly twitchy the further down the path they travelled, her hand often resting on her knife's handle as she walked. Their surroundings were eerily quiet, but when there was a noise or the hint of a shadow passing by, the woman could not help but imagine one of the great spiders creeping along beside them.

Unable to see the sun and not knowing their current path, Rahlsma wondered how long they had been travelling and how much further they were to go but resisted the urge to ask. She could sense the sour mood and did not wish to bicker with the Wizard and become distracted. Instead, she continued her diligent watch of the woods as she followed her companion deeper and deeper into this place she had no desire to be.

The fact that Aragorn was somewhere here was the only reason she had agreed to come this way at all.

"Ah," Gandalf said, interrupting her thoughts. "The path seems to open up a bit ahead. Perhaps we can ride for a time, if we are fortunate."

They rounded a slight bend and Rahlsma saw that the trees here did not hang so low. Gandalf remounted and Rahlsma followed his lead.

"The hat may still be a bit too tall," she reminded him, with a nod towards his head.

He smiled and winked at her as he removed it and once more sat it on his lap instead. She reached into her saddle bag and offered him a small piece of dried meat, which he accepted, before she bit into her own.

"Hmm, tasty," he said to himself as they began to ride once more, slower than their typical pace of late, but still better than walking on foot.

Some of the tension seemed to dissipate, at least a little, perhaps from their salty snack or from the perceived safety of being back on horseback. But nonetheless, Rahlsma remained on edge as they rode through many hours made longer by the lack of sunlight and any way to track the time. Every now and then, she continued to hear sounds in the forest that she hoped were just some animal, though they never saw another living creature. Other times, she sensed someone's presence, but neither saw nor heard any sign of a person.

"Do you think they know we are here?" she asked Gandalf, after once again thinking someone – or something – was nearby and watching them.

He looked at her and raised his bushy eyebrows but said nothing.

Soon they could hear the low sound of moving water; it had been a very long time since that sound brought such relief to Rahlsma. The corner of her mouth twitched up, and they both quickened their horses' pace to as quick as they dared on the small path in such a dangerous place. The sound grew louder until they found themselves at the river's edge.

"I have never seen such dark water," Rahlsma noted as she dismounted and, with great care, stepped towards the obstacle that now blocked their way.

"Be cautious," Gandalf warned, though he had already reminded her of the water's danger as they approached and knew she would heed his words. The threat of endless sleep and stolen memories was a strong deterrent.

"Curious," was all she said in response. "It does not seem to smell strange. Ancient magic, perhaps?"

"Perhaps," he answered, glancing around them.

Rahlsma had crouched down to better investigate their current situation and suddenly became aware that three figures were now observing them from the opposite bank. She had not heard their approach nor noticed them just a moment before. She stood while taking in as much information as possible. Three woodland Elves, clad in greens and browns. All armed, but no weapons drawn or aimed. They had been expecting them.

"The trees seemed to have slowed your arrival, Mithrandir," one of the elves spoke loudly across the river.

Rahlsma glanced at her companion and was surprised to see the hint of a smile on his face.

"When you have existed as long as _I_ have, Legolas Greenleaf," the wizard responded, "perhaps you will better understand just how much of a virtue patience can be."

The one called Legolas laughed. "It is good to see you again. My father will greatly appreciate your aid with the matter at hand."

He gestured to the other two elves, who bent behind a nearby bush and produced a small boat. They put it in the river, nimbly climbed in without touching the water as Legolas held it steady, then the two began paddling across.

"What about the horses?" Rahlsma asked him.

"They will be brought to a nearby area to be safely led across, Rahlsma, friend to Mithrandir and Aragorn." When the woman looked uncertain, he added, "I assure you, they are in good and capable hands."

"For your sake, they better be," she mumbled as she helped pull the boat onto the shore, looking warily at its inhabitants as they hopped out.

Gandalf lay his hand on her shoulder. "Do not be rude. And do not worry, we can trust them."

"You trust everyone," she countered, running her hand over Muineth's muzzle, then whispering to her in elvish before handing her reigns to one of the Elves.

She helped Gandalf into the boat, waited until he had sat and then pushed it further into the water before jumping in behind him and picking up a paddle. She rowed them across with no problems then watched from her seat as Legolas offered his arm in assistance to Gandalf, then pulled the boat up further by himself. She scaled its side on her own before anyone could offer her a hand. Legolas began to drag their transport back to its hiding spot but Rahlsma grabbed the end and, with her help, it was returned behind the bush from which it had emerged earlier.

"Rahlsma," Gandalf began, "may I formally introduce you to Legolas, son of Thranduil, and Prince of Greenwood."

She nodded respectfully, noting that the name Mirkwood must not be used by the Elves who live there.

"Welcome to the great wood," he said to her, palm over his heart. "Aragorn informed us that Mithrandir may be accompanied by you. Our scouts were surprised that you seemed to sense their presence. And you know our tongue?"

"Yes," she replied. "I have spent some time in Rivendell."

Legolas nodded and looked at her like he imagined there was much more to this story.

"Come, I will lead you both to the halls of my father."

* * *

The forest felt safer on this side of the Enchanted River, but still Rahlsma did not lower her guard. They were not on the path long before it began to slowly curve northwards, and they moved this direction until it widened little by little and eventually led to the bridge across the Forest River and, just beyond that, the main gate. Rahlsma paused before crossing the bridge and looked up at the mountain before them.

"Surprised to see elves making their home in a mountain?" Legolas asked, reading the expression on her face.

"I knew it was so," she replied, glancing at him only briefly before returning her gaze upward. "But it is still somewhat strange to behold."

They crossed the bridge, Legolas in the lead, and walked through the gate the guards quickly opened for them.

"That is understandable. But it has proven a strong defense for us over many long years." He paused and glanced back at the two he now led into the front passage. "And against many shadows."

Gandalf nodded. "All the more reason we are grateful for your gracious hospitality." Still behind their guide, the Wizard raised his eyebrows at Rahlsma, as if to remind her to act accordingly. She made a face at him but nodded almost imperceptibly.

The tunnel curved a couple of times, then opened up into the large main hall. Despite being under a mountain, it did not feel rugged or dwarf-like but was adorned in an earthy, elvish style. Though not as elegant as Lothlorien or as ornate as Rivendell, Rahlsma still caught her breath at the beauty of it. It was a quiet sound, but Legolas heard it and one corner of his mouth twitched up.

The woman stood taller and pulled back her shoulders as they approached the great throne near the back of the room. When they stopped in front of it, they all bowed their heads before the tall king sitting before them.

"As you have requested, father, I have brought Mithrandir to you with haste. His companion is Rahlsma, sent by Aragorn to alert the wizard of the creature's capture."

"Very good," King Thranduil spoke, his voice reminding Rahlsma of Elrond, though she also noted how similar in appearance this Elf and his son were. "We typically prefer to keep to our own affairs, but as our current prisoner is not really our own, I am glad that you have arrived to see to the creature."

"Your willingness to hold him, as well as your hospitality to us, is much appreciated," said Gandalf, with another respectful tip of his head. "I would speak with him at once, as soon as I have conferred with Aragorn about the situation."

"Very well. The evening meal is about to be served. Legolas will accompany you to your table, as I am sure he would much rather dine with our adventuring visitors than at his usual place near his father." His words sounded harsh, but there was a twinkle in his eyes.

"As you wish," Legolas replied, barely containing a chuckle as he turned from the throne and gestured for them to follow him once more.

The far side of the great hall was filled with wooden tables and benches, and at one of them sat Aragorn. Legolas led them towards him, and the man stood as he saw them approach. Rahlsma regarded him, grateful that he seemed better rested and cared for than the last time she had seen him less than a fortnight before.

He greeted the Wizard first, the old friends grasping opposite forearms and patting one another on the shoulder.

"It is good to see you, Mithrandir," Aragorn said, his smile wide.

"I couldn't agree more, my friend. I know this quest has been a long one, but I thank you for your sacrifice and labor."

The man accepted this praise with a humble nod, then turned towards Rahlsma. He opened his arms to her and gave her a quick hug before she pulled back and he rested two calloused hands on her shoulders.

"I knew you could find him and bring him to me quickly," he told the young woman. He turned her slightly one way, then the other before adding, "And all in one piece, too."

She rolled her eyes. "There has been absolutely no one to fight, Aragorn. Not even a stray orc. I am beginning to bore."

"How terrible" he chuckled, shaking her playfully. "Come and sit. I am sure you are both hungry from the journey."

"You know me," Rahlsma quipped, sitting next to Aragorn on the bench. Legolas and Gandalf sat across from them, and the young woman immediately began to eat what had been placed in front of her.

Gandalf, not touching his food, leaned forwards. "Has Gollum given you any information?"

"Nothing too useful, I am afraid," Aragorn said with a sigh. "He has mumbled occasionally about Bilbo, and losing his precious, which seem to confirm Bilbo's accounts. But anytime I tried to breach the subject of Mordor, he refused to speak. I was hesitant to say too much…his body is not the only slippery thing about him."

Rahlsma swallowed a large mouthful of bread. "If talking doesn't work, I am sure I can find a way to be a bit more persuasive."

"If what I fear is true, then the poor creature has been tortured enough, Rahlsma," Gandalf said firmly, narrowing his eyes at the woman. "And you of all people should not be so quick to jump to violence as a solution."

She stopped her fork halfway to her mouth and lowered it back to her plate.

"I _of all people_ am quick to do what is necessary to survive," she spat, glaring across the table. "You have lived many years and know much beyond my grasp, but do not for a _second_ think that means you understand what my life has been like."

Their table grew silent, Legolas's widened eyes moving between the woman and the Wizard. Gandalf opened his mouth as if to speak, but then closed it once again before taking a deep breath. Aragorn looked at Rahlsma, a strange, almost pained expression on his face.

"You are right," Gandalf finally said, to everyone's surprise. Saying he was wrong was not a usual habit of his. "Forgive me. I only meant that as we face whatever evil may be ahead, we must all be cautious not to be altered by it."

Rahlsma snorted but said nothing as she raised her fork and began to eat again.

Aragorn cleared his throat. "Since you do not seem hungry, Mithrandir, perhaps I could take you to the prisoner now while Rahlsma finishes her dinner." Before she could argue, he turned to the woman next to him and added, "I am sure Legolas would not mind showing you around afterwards, since this is your first time here. Wouldn't you like to see where Bilbo made his grand escape?"

Rahlsma glanced at the prince across from her and then looked into Aragorn's eyes. She was curious about this creature Gollum, but she w _as_ still hungry and did not wish to be a bother to Aragorn who had been travelling so long on his recent task of Mithrandir's. She looked at the Wizard and realized that her desire for some time away from him was currently stronger than any of her other wants. A fake smile emerged on her face.

"A tour of Mirkwood's royal halls with the Prince himself?" She watched the Elf's face shift slightly at her choice of names, though he said nothing. "How could I possibly refuse?" Then she looked at Aragorn pointedly while taking another bite.

"You don't mind?" He asked Legolas as he stood.

"Of course not," the Elf said with a polite smile, and Rahlsma wondered if it was genuine. "It would be my pleasure."

Aragorn lay a heavy hand on the woman's shoulder. "Try not to get into any trouble." And then, quieter and closer, "This is neither the time nor place for it."

She nodded but then smirked up at him. "Trouble? Me?"


End file.
